


What's In a Name?

by Etched_in_Fire



Series: Star Fox: Fate's Decree [18]
Category: Star Fox Series
Genre: Andross cameo, Child Abandonment, Child Neglect, Emotional, Experimentation, Eye Injury, Farewell Beloved Falco references, Fox McCloud cameo, Gen, Government Conspiracy, Nightmares, Past Child Abuse, Slippy cameo, Trauma, Unsettling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21586285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etched_in_Fire/pseuds/Etched_in_Fire
Summary: Dash Bowman has always suffered from nightmares ever since he could remember.  They seem so real sometimes... that they feel like they actually happened long ago.  But that's impossible... right?
Series: Star Fox: Fate's Decree [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/51568
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	What's In a Name?

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place 4 years after the Lylat Wars and features references to Farewell Beloved Falco.
> 
> I present to you "Sad Monkeys, Pt 2", which was written vaguely as a sequel in spirit to my Andrew piece from MANY years ago.
> 
> I haven't done much of a deep dive on my headcanons for Dash yet, so here's a look at my hot take.

_The night was dark and the rain felt like tiny icicles piercing through his fur. He clung to his mother’s back, fingers adjusting around her torso to keep his grip. He wanted to ask her where they were going but the thunder was so loud that it reaped him of even the willpower to speak. The young ape shrank into what faint warmth he could feel from his mother. Her rain jacket was soaked but he buried his face into it anyways, letting the rainwater seep into his cheek. A streak of lightning and his hands tensed immediately, fingers gripping into the slick fabric of the jacket._

_The urban streets were dark, misted blurs as his cyan eyes peered apprehensively out at the gloomy cityscape. Corneria City saw storms often but this one felt evil, somehow, like the monsters on the shows his mother watched. The monsters with jaws that gnashed, teeth that pierced, and talons that shredded. Twisted faces. Ugly faces. Another bolt of lightning and his juvenile mind saw those faces in the clouds. His gasp was lost in the shrieking of the wind._

_She pulled her bike over in an alleyway, its darkness so deep that Dash was certain he was going to be lost in it. His fingers trembled as he released his vice grip on his mother’s jacket. She hopped down after he had splashed his way onto the asphalt, standing with a shiver in his bones in the downpour. Even with her hood drawn, he could see the resentment glowing in his eyes, her wet white bangs plastered to her forehead. Her lip curled as she looked at the giant metal box next to them, judging it with icy eyes._

_“Mama, when we get home, can we get some hot chocolate?” Dash asked with a whine. No response. She reached out to the large metal box, grabbing its lid. It swung open with a heave, letting in the rain with a myriad of little pinging noises. The droplets were narrow and quick like bullets. Dash was glad he had his jacket on._

_“What’s in there?” he asked, raising up on his tip-toes in a futile attempt to glance in. A foul smell drifted out, so strong that even the smell of rain could not blot it out. He wrinkled his snout._

_His mother turned to look at him. Cold eyes. Steeled eyes. Always stoic. Her voice cut like knives, striking him like lightning._

_“Come here.”_

_He obeyed, walking forward a few steps and wincing as her merciless hands found his sides. His feet parted from the ground, giving a little playful kick despite how cold he was. She lifted him high, so high that he was scared he’d disappear into the stormy clouds. But as soon as his ascent had begun, it ended in the maw of the metal bin, the putrid scent of everything bad overwhelming his nostrils. His bottom hit something cushioned and soft—a black plastic bag that seemed full of something lumpy. He gagged but did not understand why._

_“Mama?” asked Dash._

_“You’re an abomination,” came her voice, just a single notch above a whisper. The rain had lessened. The thunder had silenced itself for her dark confession. “You were never meant to happen. And it… it’s better off this way.”_

_Abomination?_

_He didn’t even know that word. It sounded bad. Had he done something wrong?_

_“Mama…?”_

_“Just… Stop. Just stop. You don’t need to make this any harder than it already is.”_

_“Mama, can I come out now? It… it smells really bad in here…”_

_“No! Just… just stay there. Stay.”_

_“Mama…”_

_“Stop!” she screamed. “Stay put! I’ll…” She faltered. “I’ll come back for you in the morning.”_

_The morning? But the morning was forever away? His sneakers splashed against the rain water starting to build in the bottom of the metal box. His back leaned against the plastic bag full of random things. Something jabbed him in the back and he let out a small squeak of pain. On the other side of the metallic wall, he heard her walk away. Soft footsteps, condemning each puddle with aggravated stomps. His heart fearfully fluttered._

_“Mama?”_

_The rain resumed._

_“Mama?”_

_Silence and then lightning._

_“Mama!?”_

_When she did not reply, when he did not hear her, his questions dissolved into screams. Primal, frightened screams echoed off the metal walls, resounding in his own ears until he could only hear himself. Thunder fell into a muted background. His chest heaved against his wet, freezing jacket. His fingers gripped the sides of his head, feeling through his brown fur and into his skin. He screamed until his energy ran dry, sinking amid the trash in their heaps and looking up at the weeping heavens from the pits of the dumpster. A bolt of lightning pierced the gloom. His vision turned to fog. And then it turned to darkness._

* * *

And Dash Bowman jerked upright from his slumber, eyes snapping open as he awoke. Knuckles paling from his harsh grip upon the quilt on his bed, the young simian’s eyes wandered to the white blinds to his left, parted just enough for the soft blue of the Cornerian sky to seep in. Sunlight twinkled beyond the healthy green of the leaves outside. It was Saturday morning. Outside, he could hear the giddy laughter of children playing in the streets. Somewhere in the distance, a car’s horn honked angrily. Drifting into the hall was the faint scent of pancakes being cooked. The sizzle of a pan over a stove was almost muted by the sound of the Saturday morning news buzzing from the television.

_Another bad dream,_ thought Dash as he settled back into the fluff of his pillow with a sigh. He felt the drumming of his heart as he stared up at his ceiling, the glow-in-the-dark stars his mother had attached to the ceiling nearly faded into the white paint. When the sun went down, they brimmed with life—a clever method of banishing the total darkness that his parents had come up with. Dash supposed he was old enough to know now that monsters did not really exist under his bed. But when he had been younger, night terrors had plagued him and his mind had often concocted faces in the dark. The stars were supposed to remind him that all was well.

He traced their outlines with a finger in the air, feeling his heart rate gradually slow. Dash let his shoulder relax—just how his mother had shown him years ago. He took in a deep breath through his nose, letting it whistle out his mouth. A few more repetitions and he felt the quiver in his fingers stop. The warmth of the sheets hugged him tight to the mattress, banishing those last tendrils of fear left over from his nightmare.

_Everything’s okay._

  
“Dash!” his mother’s voice rang out and his gaze moved to the opened door again. “Breakfast is ready!”

His bed was warm and comfy but the notion of breakfast made his stomach growl. He flung open his covers and sprinted for the door, still clad head-to-toe in his star-patterned pajamas. Not even bothering to smooth the fur atop his head, he let his feet pat against the wood of the hallway, carrying him closer and closer to the tantalizing scent of food.

Their living room was as it always had been—for as long as he could remember, at least. Their sofas were an off-white, trimmed with gold swirled knots on the arm rests and on the borders of the cushioned pillows. A lamp that looked older than the wrinkles under his father’s eyes sat nearby on a black top wooden side table, where the remote to the television always sat. Velvet red curtains had been pulled back to let in the mirthful sunlight and in its glow did Dash’s older sister Elise sit, working on a puzzle with a scrunched up look on her muzzle. When she found a piece that fit, her curled tail would give a small, triumphant wag. Their father, a weary-eyed wolfhound, sat in the reclining chair, a teal mug of coffee in his hand and his eyes glazed over as he stared at the television.

“Good morning, sweetie!” his mother, a beagle, jovially greeted him with a smile—the kind that made him smile back. “Sleep good?”

“No,” Dash replied, distractedly glancing over at the television screen. There was a fancy lady in a fancy outfit talking, a microphone clasped in her hand. She was standing in front of a statue—at least, Dash presumed it was a statue. It was a strange, three-pronged creation made of white metal and crested with an illuminating orb. He did not understand what it was supposed to be, but it was pleasant enough to look at.

“No?” He could hear the smile dying in his mother’s voice. “Another bad dream?”

“Yeah,” Dash answered, still transfixed by the program on the screen. 

The image of the lady talking had been replaced by another image—a tall simian man being escorted by the police. The dog that stood behind the man was a stern-eyed woman, her police’s badge flashing bright in the sunlight. As the man looked around, the fur on the back of Dash’s neck rose. His eyes traced the man’s face—taking in the worn expression under his eyes, the white streaks in his fur, the long bangs that sprung from the simian’s scalp, forming a thick mane of hair that fell down his back. 

There was a strange sense of familiarity. A quiet, subtle sense of longing burned his heart, growing hotter and hotter until it seared his heartstrings with loud, merciless heat. 

His mother’s hands guided his face away from the television, forcing her eyes to look into his. 

“What happened in your dream?” his mom asked, cocking her head to the side. It was a trait most people like her did—a trait most Cornerian dogs did. Dash had noticed it when he had started school. Used to, he would try to mimic it, to make it seem like he had actually been born into this family rather than adopted. But it had never stuck.

“I had a dream I was me,” Dash replied, feeling his eyes stray back towards the television. “But I really wasn’t.”

“Uh huh…” his mom said apprehensively. She guided him towards the kitchen with a tender hand on his back. From the pile of pancakes she had already finished cooking, she pulled out two, slapping them onto a cleaned plate. As she handed the plate to Dash, he caught a glimpse of her nervousness, seeing the way her mouth twisted and turned. His brows rose.

“Mama, are you okay?” Dash asked. “You’re acting kinda weird!”

One of her floppy ears perked up and his mother gave a sigh. “That sass… stars know where you got that from. I’m fine, Dash. Tell me more about your dream.”

“Well,” the young ape said, settling down into a chair at the dinner table with his pancakes gleefully stacked in front of him. He grabbed the syrup sitting in the middle of the table and completely doused the pancakes in it. His mother gave a small scowl, shaking her head. Once Dash had finished nearly emptying the bottle onto his delightful breakfast, he continued.

“It was real, real rainy outside. And there was a lady there… I think… Hm… I think she was my mother,” He frowned, cutting at his pancakes with the side of his fork.

“Oh,” he heard her say, soft as the first droplets of rain on the window. The look in her doe eyes made him feel strangely _not good_ but he could not understand why. And so he continued.

“She put me in a… a place that smells really bad. Kinda like the place where Daddy takes the trash to!” Dash said thoughtfully, then added, “I didn’t really like it there.”

His mother, having finished cooking the last pancake, came around the counter top to help him at his endeavor. When she approached him, he could smell her floral perfume. 

“Dash,” his mother said, her hands covering his as she cut the pancakes for him. “You… you know Mommy would never do that, right?”

“Well, duh, it wasn’t _you_ that did it, it was… it was…” There was a name there. On the tip of his tongue. He was not sure how he knew it. His mouth opened to say it but just as soon as he inhaled, it vanished from the front of his mind. The young simian’s eyes fell. “… That lady…”

His mother’s eyes studied him and he chanced a look back up at her. 

“That lady?” There was something his mother’s eyes that he was not sure he could put words to. They glistened like grassblades in the early morning, still wet from dew. But it was not happy. She did not look happy. Dash recoiled. Usually she was so happy to hear about his dreams. Why was today different?

“Um…” Dash’s fingers twitched and twiddled together. 

“It’s… It’s okay, Dash. You can talk about it…” his mother tried to sound encouraging, but in all honesty, the young simian was afraid of what would happen if he disobeyed. Would he get in trouble? Would they take away his toys for the day? He did not want that.

“She couldn’t be Mommy. _You’re_ Mommy,” Dash shook his head. Would that make her feel better? Would that take away that gleam in her eyes? He hesitated, feeling an unspoken truth bubble in the back of his throat. He set his fork down, the thought manifesting in a tiny whisper, “… She looked like me.”

_And she looked like him._

The next realization came and his face swiveled back towards where his father was ignoring the television. The tall simian man was no longer being escorted in the footage. His picture rested in the upper right hand corner of the screen, a fist raised and his fangs bared with anger that felt… so strangely familiar… Dash shivered then looked back at his pancakes, poking at them with his fork. Somehow, he did not feel hungry any more. He just wanted to look at that man on the screen. 

Being a child and being a creature of impulse, the simian turned his gaze slowly back to the screen. The screen had changed to a reporter again. Words on the bottom caught his teal eyes. 

“4 YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF LYLAT WARS ENDING”

Lylat Wars… yes, he had heard those words before. It was the war his father had fought in. When the bad guys had come. They had wanted to do… something. Now that he thought about it, he was not sure what they were trying to do. His mother had told him they were mean. So he had believed it. He still… he still believed it. His mother would never lie to him. If she said they had been mean, then that’s what they had to be, right?

The screen changed again. There were pictures of the Star Fox team—Dash knew them well. They were the saviors of the Lylat System. Everyone knew the Star Fox team. Every kid his age wanted to be Fox McCloud. Even Dash found himself daydreaming in class sometimes about a life roaming the stars, free to fly to wherever he wanted. It certainly seemed like a lot of fun…

Fox’s face vanished from the screen, replaced again by a video of the simian man from before—a horrible mugshot where his eyes seemed to be entirely eaten by shadows. Dash paused, feeling his attention pull him from his chair. The words on the bottom of the screen were smaller. They lured him out of his chair, his teal eyes locked onto them. His breath caught in his throat. His hands clasped together, resting just under his pink chin. 

The words read:

“EMPEROR GESTALT ANDROSS”

“Andross…” Dash said quietly, looking at the words on the screen.

The name crackled through him like lightning. Lightning that split the gloom. Lightning that felt so familiar. He backed a step from the screen, blinking rapidly. The Emperor’s dull amber eyes turned to the screen. Dash felt them lock in on him—glaring bullets through his young flesh. It was terrifying. But it was… familiar. Familiar like the sound of cartoons on a Saturday morning. Familiar like the smell of his father’s coffee every day before work. Familiar like the lyrics to one of the songs his teachers sang at school. Words formed at his lips without warning. Words that needed to be spoken. They flowed effortlessly into the air, smooth as butter, languid as ocean water.

“Dash… Andross.”

“Dash!” his mother yelped as though she had been stung. She was at his side in an instant, pulling his face from those familiar eyes. He jerked away, struggling to look back at that familiar stranger. Her hands were rougher this time, giving up on distracting him. Instead, they whisked him away from the living room. 

“Randall, turn that off!” she hollered to his father.

“Felicity…” his father groaned from the chair but obliged her.

Dash blinked three times, the world around him shaking as his mother hurriedly pulled him into the entryway. Her back was to the front door, her brown eyes staring deep into his when she set her son down. His feet landed softly on the cold tile. Usually he would have complained and wanted socks but his mother’s gaze had enraptured him and, fearful of the reprimand he was sure he was about to receive, Dash fell silent.

“Dash,” his mother, Felicity, smiled at him. But it was shaky. Something was amiss. She continued. “Dash, honey, you know your name is Dash Bowman, right?”

“Yeah,” Dash said. The tone she had was honey-sweet on top but sour in the middle. “I know.”

“And you know that Mommy and Daddy love you very much… right?” his mother prompted him.

“Yeah,” Dash replied. He looked down. Somehow, the weight of her sorrowful eyes was too much. She took his chin into her hand gently, steering his attention back up to her face. They stood that way for a few long moments before Dash spoke again. “Why does he look like me?”

She gasped. The lines of her face were written with horror and uncertainty. He could tell she was tripping over her next words mentally. He was not sure how, but he could _sense_ it. Her unease. Her trepidation. It felt like the deep end of the pool, ominously threatening to drown him. Dash pulled away and she let go of him, her hands dropping to her sides. 

“Honey…” his mother said in a wavering voice. “Honey…”

He was disappointing her. He hated it. He wanted to go back to his breakfast. To the blissful idea that that man did not exist. But the young ape’s mind was captivated by those amber eyes. Without thinking, he reached up, fingertips caressing his own cheekbones. His mind painted a picture where his teal eyes lost their cold hue, warming into that burning sunlight tone that seemed… somehow? It seemed more _fitting_. Like the teal should not have been. 

“I think…” He babbled quietly. “… I think he was in my dreams once.”

“W-well,” his father appeared in the doorway. “No wonder. He’s a famous man, Dash. And not for a good reason.” 

His lanky father passed his mother by, ignoring her woeful expression. He ruffled Dash’s head. The smile that spread across his extended muzzle was warm, almost enough to make the simian forget what was going on. Almost.

“You probably saw something about him at school or in a book. That’s all,” his father said amiably.

The logic was… sound. But something about that Andross man on the TV screen felt illogical. Dash scratched his chin. He did not want to argue. He did not want to make his parents upset. So, the young ape smiled, pulling his mother into an abrupt but tight hug. Her hands rubbed the back of his head, thumbing gently through his white fur. It felt nice.

“Okay,” Dash said when their hug was done. He looked to them both. “I love you, Mommy and Daddy.” At a young age, he had mastered it—the high-pitched proclamation of love complete with the pouty eyes. He saw his success in the melting of their expressions. The horror faded from his mother’s face, replaced with adoration. His father’s smile broadened.

“We love you too, honey,” his mother said, embracing him again. “Now, let’s have a good day today, hm? It’s so nice out, we should go to the park, I think.”

“Can I bring my soccer ball?” Dash asked, eyes turning to his father.

“Sure,” his dad nodded.

Their meeting dispersed a few moments later, his mother slipping back into the kitchen and his dad returning to his armchair. This time, he changed the channel to cooking show and Elise made a face from where she played before going back to her puzzle. Dash plopped down next to her, looking at her process with curiosity. The puzzle’s image depicted space. Titania was visible in the front, its rings thick and vibrant. 

He stared at it for some time, feeling that illogical hint of familiarity wash over him. His eyes coursed over Titania’s red surface. Its warm hues blended into the blue-black of space before long. His vision soon became a mess of colors, fading… fading…

* * *

_Fluid leaked out around him, thicker than water and glistening translucent green. He felt like he was in a bath tub… or perhaps a shower stall, like what his father used in the morning. When he opened his eyes, some of the fluid seeped into it, stinging. He coughed but his voice sounded deeper somehow. Dash grabbed at his forehead, catching sight of his monstrous hands, each finger crowned with a curved talon that seemed more demonic than simian. Bewildered, he turned his gaze to the creatures below him. Their eyes stared up in fear. His heart ached. He didn’t like this. Not at all._

_The first was a toad. He looked familiar. Dash blinked away more of the fluid seeping down his face. Yes, he knew that toad. It was Slippy from the Star Fox team. His mouth hung agape in terror, his stout body leaning away. Dash wanted to know what was so terrifying. Dash wanted to ask if he was okay._

_Next to Slippy was Fox McCloud—a figure so recognizable that even despite the culture fluid flecking his eyelashes, Dash could tell who he was. In one hand was a saber, its tip reddened. Dash’s stomach turned and he shivered inwardly at what that meant. He opened his mouth to talk to Fox, to ask him what was wrong. Nothing came out. He choked, tongue tasting that awful fluid that clung to his fur._

_Something built in his chest. It felt like hot energy, searing his insides. He felt like his skin was going to pull apart, like his heart was going to explode. It took him a long moment to realize that he was_ angry. _It was a type of rage that surpassed him, quaking his flesh and bones involuntarily. Dash could never remember feeling like this before—not even when his sister had stolen his Arwing toy or when his mother had told him he couldn’t play outside when it was rainy._

_“I remember…” words spilled from Dash’s mouth but he did not will them out. They sounded like an echo, like someone else was talking and his lips were moving. “That last instant… the moment you defeated me…”_

_The next words that came out shook Dash to his core._

_“I hate you, Fox McCloud!”_

_There was a will that piloted that body—a will that was not Dash. He felt any ounce of his control get shoved aside, victimized by that insatiable anger that consumed his vessel. He reached out to grab Fox with his gargantuan hand. There was a sick part of him that wanted to feel how it was to break bones and pulverize flesh. Dash hated it. He hated these awful, awful feelings. But he could not escape them. He felt his titanic body surge forward with seething rage. Something was crushed underfoot, something squishy… he did not pay any mind to that. It was irrelevant. His wild eyes caught a glimpse of Fox with his saber, reeling an arm back. Dash wanted to scream at the vulpine, to tell him “No!”. But no words came out. Just choked, haggard breaths fringed with bloodlust._

_Fear-driven, Fox launched his sword at Dash’s face. Dash tried to will his body to move. The saber drifted closer. Everything felt so slow, like time was oozing through honey. Dash tried to scream. The body would not move. The tip came closer until the saber was all he could see in his left eye. Milliseconds until impact. He felt himself scream inside. He felt his heart surge with unstoppable rage. His right eye was filled with the sight of Fox fleeing with Slippy. His left eye went dark._

* * *

“Hey Dash, are you okay?” Elise’s voice pulled him back into reality. The young ape looked at his sister, feeling the tears in his eyes. He wiped them away quickly. The sight of his family’s living room came back. His heart pounded but he realized it was just a dark reverie. Dash breathed out a sigh of relief, rubbing under his left eye in paranoia.

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

* * *

The clock outside struck ten in the evening. Both Dash and Elise had gone to bed hours prior, leaving the household in what ought to have been blissful serenity. But there was no peace. Felicity Bowman paced the living room, muttering worriedly to herself. Outside, the city skyline illuminated in the darkness like a sleepless beacon. An array of lights shimmered out the window, coloring the night with fanciful blues, reds, and greens. Felicity paused to admire them for a moment but soon drew the curtain to blot it all out. She turned to look at Randall, unable to stifle a scoff as soon as she took note of his lackadaisical posture on the couch. With a scowl, she stormed up to the candle at the end table next to him and blew it out. Smoke wafted into the air, mixing with the scent of apple pie that radiated from the crimson wax.

“Aren’t you the least bit concerned?” she demanded in a shrill, soft tone.

“About what?” he asked cluelessly, perking his head up.

“He’s starting to remember, Randall,” she whispered to her husband fearfully. “What are we going to do?”

“Oh… that.”

Beyond his spectacles sat a sorrowful gaze. Neither of them had wanted this to happen but Felicity most of all had become attached to their… _charge_ , for lack of a better word. The situation they had been put in was, without doubt, difficult. At the time, she had accepted it without second thought, eager to do her duty. But now emotions were involved. And judging from her husband’s look, she could tell even he was apprehensive of their next step.

“We’ll have to tell the General,” Randall Bowman replied, not looking up to see her reaction. He knew she would loathe it. He knew she would protest it. It was her motherly nature. It broke his heart to think about what would happen.

“Isn’t there another way?” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “He’s just a child. He can’t hurt anyone.”

“There’s nothing saying that anything bad’s going to come of this,” Randall put down his book, realizing that he was not even paying attention to its words. He sighed at his wife, setting aside the novel onto the couch-side chair. “But don’t forget our orders. Anything suspicious has to be reported.”

“Orders…” Felicity spat, hugging herself. “It makes it sound like we’re less his parents and more of his… His…” Jailors? His observers? She was not sure there was quite a word that fit it wholly. But it did not matter—Randall knew her meaning. They had been together since before the Lylat Wars. Their platoon had been the one that had uncovered the secret lab. There had been tubes upon tubes of creations— _abominations_ —that General Pepper had wanted destroyed. But one look at the smallest tube—just one look inside and Felicity had been unable to follow through. 

After all, how could they murder a child? 

“He’s a good lad,” Randall said quietly in agreement with his wife. “And he wouldn’t want any of us to get hurt. It’s important that we… that we continue to instill good values into him. And that we tell the higher ups what’s happening if anything goes awry. This isn’t just for our protection, Felicity. It’s for Dash’s as well.”

“They’re so bloodthirsty. Anything involving Andross, the General just wants it to burn,” Felicity shivered. “And Dash…”

“The General sees the good in keeping him around. We made sure of that years ago. One little mess up isn’t going to undo everything we did,” Randall shook his head. He rose up, putting his arms around his wife. “He’s a good kid. He’s going to change the world someday.”

“In all the ways Andross _ought_ to have,” Felicity nodded, wiping a tear away with the back of her hand. Years of military training—one would have thought it would harden her heart. But all it seemed to do was make her more emotional. She buried her nose into her husband’s chest, unable to hold back her tears any longer.

“I just don’t want anything bad to happen.”

“Felicity… if he gets too nosy, we can just tell him something to satiate his curiosity. We could tell him that Andross was… his _grandfather_ , or something. That that’s why they look so similar,” Randall reassured her.

“I suppose you’re right,” Felicity sniffled. “I just… I just get so scared for him, Randall.”

“I do too,” Randall rested his chin on her. “But I promise, everything will turn out for the better. This is just a bump in the road, that’s all.”

The moonlight was often outshone by the Corneria City lights, but tonight it held its own. It sat full, rays of soft white light streaming through the window onto the embracing couple. Felicity prayed in that moment that her husband was right. He often was, that she did not deny, but something about this incident terrified her to her core. Something about the way her son’s eyes had glossed over. Something about the way he had smiled. 

Emotions bustling about her chest did little to soothe her but it seemed like each time she thought of something to say, it was just a repeat of what she had already spoken. She decided, after some painstaking inner discussion, that there was simply nothing else to be said. Tomorrow, they would present their report to General Pepper. And tomorrow, she prayed, would not be the day the General saw it fit to enact his original plan – the termination of Andross’s legacy.

**Author's Note:**

> Felicity: golly i sure hope nothing bad happens  
> Star Fox Command Ending Dash Makes a Choice: -exists-


End file.
